


Clothed

by eternalsojourn



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsojourn/pseuds/eternalsojourn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got this image in my head of Arthur and Eames fucking for the first time in the warehouse after hours. Desperate, fast, and fully clothed is what I pictured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clothed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [night_reveals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/night_reveals/gifts).



> Beta: Since my ever-patient beta has put up with me wibbling over ridiculous issues with several of my other fics, I figured it was high time I gave her something fun to read. So this is a gift for night_reveals , who also kindly beta'ed her own gift.

Arthur has no idea what happened. One minute they’re trading barbs, the familiar irritation needling down into Arthur’s chest. The next Eames is all over him and they’re kissing like it’s a war, slammed against each other and tearing each other’s faces off.

Arthur’s grabbing at Eames’s body, hands slipped up under his jacket and feeling those ridiculous muscles in his back. And _fuck_ he hopes no one forgot anything in the warehouse to bring them back here, because this isn’t stopping, not if Arthur has any say.

He reaches for Eames’s belt buckle, fingers fumbling in his rush, and Eames is doing the same. Arthur swats Eames’s hands away and turns his attention to his own pants, pushing them down to his thighs. He’s biting at Eames’s jaw, down his neck and licking up the roughly bristled skin. The scratchiness and the smell of him are making Arthur wild and he just wants to _eat_ him. An animalistic growl escapes his throat.

Eames pushes him backwards until he bumps into the wall, and the walk is clumsy with both of their half-removed trousers limiting their steps, but it’s not far and when he gets there Eames spins him around roughly. Arthur braces his hands on the concrete above his head, and one of Eames’s hands laces in with his while the other palms his ass. A quick glance over his shoulder shows Eames staring down, so Arthur reaches down to pull his jacket out of the way enough for Eames to get his fill.

“Fuck!” Eames spits before pulling a single-serve packet of lube and a condom from his pocket. Arthur doesn’t think about why it’s there, can’t consider the implications. He’s just relieved that there’s something.

Eames makes short work of tearing the foil packet open with his teeth and rolling the condom on before cracking the lube and coating himself liberally. With the rest of the slick on his fingers, he prods at Arthur’s ass, spiralling two blunt thick fingers deep inside, nothing considerate or slow about the movement. Arthur doesn’t care, relishes the burn and it’s _not_. _Fucking_. _Enough_.

“Eames,” Arthur grits out, frowning angrily. “Just. Do it already.”

Eames grunts and bites into Arthur’s neck at his nape, and less than a second later Arthur feels the hot press of a cock against his hole. And if he thought Eames’s fingers were blunt, that was nothing compared to this. Because _god_ , when he presses in, Arthur thinks Eames must be the fattest he’s ever taken. Maybe it was a mistake to rush this, but it’s too late. Eames is relentless, stretching Arthur wide and the pain is exquisite.

Arthur curls his fingers into fists against the wall and drops his head forward, the concrete cool through his hair. He has some foresight, though, so he pushes back off his hands to put space between his head and the wall. And it’s not a moment too soon because Eames is lifting Arthur’s jacket out of the way and slamming in, the other hand gripping his hip in a crushing squeeze. It feels incredible, the harshness of it. And with the wall, the hand, the brutal intrusion behind him, it’s like he’s being compressed from all directions; all of it hurts so fucking good.

Arthur matches the pace, thrusting back into the burn of it, grunting in time with the rhythm they’ve set. Eames’s forehead presses into his spine, and it’s the only point of contact that feels gentle, even as they’re crashing against each other again and again.

Eames reaches around to brusquely tug at Arthur’s cock. It doesn’t take long, the frantic slap of skin against skin, the swish of material and Arthur is spilling, spurting, spraying the wall with a Pollock of a painting. Short seconds later Eames is coughing out a huff and spasming to a standstill, cock twitching inside of Arthur’s ass.

Eames slips out, leaving Arthur feeling bereft, sore, used. Eames’s head is still resting between his shoulder blades and Arthur hears the rustle of latex being removed. Then Eames is walking away towards the bin while tugging his trousers up.

Arthur rests his forehead against the cool concrete, runs his hand through the hair at the back of his head. He allows himself a moment to catch his breath before tidying himself as best he can with his handkerchief and putting himself away. He walks over to pack up his briefcase and doesn’t look at Eames as he gathers his own things.

“Eames. I’m in room 1604. You can meet me there; I’ll stop and get some food on the way.”

Eames looks up and grins, saying, “I’ll bring the whisky.”


End file.
